Unconventional
by SmutWithPlot
Summary: Not much of my life has been entirely traditional... No surprises that love isn't, either. Rated for violent or sexual themes and scenes. Involves Fred AND George Weasley with OFC, but NOT MAINSTREAM TWINCEST. *On hiatus; focusing on another story for now
1. Chapter 1

"Come on, darlin'," the man was saying, touching me too familiarly, the contact incredibly unwelcome. He grinned down at me. "Come down the pub with me." The underground was crowded in that lunch-time, everyone-should-be-somewhere-else way, so I couldn't move very far. He was facing me, and I tried desperately to keep the pole between the two of us, but he kept following me in a creepy and struggled game of ring-around-the-rosie.

"No thanks," I said, loudly, hoping if other people heard maybe he would leave me alone. But he persisted, holding my elbow firmly now, and he wasn't a particularly weak man. He wasn't overly large, but he was squat and muscled and could easily take the situation by force, if we weren't stuck immobile in a crowd of dozens. "I'm busy."

"Oh, don't you like me, love?" he asked. He pulled me toward him by the elbow.

"Let go!" I demanded, but the train took a corner and I lost my balance slightly and my shoulder bounced off his chest.

"That's better," the man said, holding me in place with one firm arm around my trapped shoulder. He grinned down at me. "Let's go off and get a drink."

But at this point I'd had quite enough of it. It was crowded and smelly and the lights were flickering in and out of service every now and then and no one was concerned with anyone except themselves. Slowly, carefully, I pulled my wand from the inside of my sleeve. I jammed it up between myself and the man, and he had enough time to look down and say, "What is—" before I whispered, "_Confundo!_"

Immediately the man's features softened. His expression was blank and he let go of me entirely, his arms falling to his sides. The train was slowing to its next stop and several people were stepping out of the car, at least as many as were trying to get on. "This is your stop, sir," I told him, pointing out the doors. He looked at me blankly, asking, "Is it?"

I nodded and helped him off onto the platform with a touch on his elbow, without letting go of the pole with my other hand. "Watch your step, sir." He thanked me, smiling sort of haphazardly, before wandering off. I watched him bounce off a pillar next to the door and desperately hoped he wouldn't fall from the platform. The compartment doors closed and the train moved on. I breathed a sigh of relief and let my head fall forward onto the pole.

"I saw that."

The voice came low and quiet and as though it was breathing directly down the back of my neck. I gasped and turned around so quickly that the man behind me had to step back slightly. "Saw what?" I asked, breathlessly.

The man standing there seemed amused as he looked down at me. He was a few inches taller, and built wiry, about as skinny as me, which is fairly skinny. Well, kinda skinny. Skinny enough. Skinny-ish.

The feature that caught your eye, though, was his flaming red-orange hair. It was stylishly messy, in the way that made me think it took longer to do in the mornings than mine did. His face was freckled and build wide for gigantic grins, and he flashed me one now. "Saw what?" I demanded again, my heart still racing from the adrenaline rush of being startled.

"This," he said, holding up my own wand before my eyes, spinning it in his fingers. I snatched it from his hand and shoved it up my sleeve again.

"How did you get that?" I hissed, glancing all around us to see if anyone had noticed. When I looked back at him he was just looking at me with one eyebrow raised.

"Magic?" he suggested, wryly. I opened my mouth, furious at being patronized, but he actually shushed me. And I was shocked enough to shush. "That was just good, old-fashioned Muggle slight of hand," he assured me. "Like this." He held both hands open and empty in front of me. Before I could do or say anything, he reached forward and brushed a stray hair of mine behind my ear, his fingers returning with a long-stem rose. He presented it to me, grinning.

I knew my face must have looked a mix of confused and shocked, and still a little furious. But I composed myself with a sigh and it was my turn to raise an eyebrow and look somewhat resignedly amused. I took the rose.

"You think you're charming, don't you," I said. He actually laughed.

"I know I'm charming," he replied.

The train was slowing suddenly for the next stop and I didn't have my grip on the pole because I was standing between it and the red-headed man. I lost my balance and fell abruptly into his chest as he held a bar over his head. Absurdly, I took the time to notice that he smelled wonderfully, of something both spicy and sweet, and clean... I regained my balance, though I had to do so by pushing myself off his chest with one hand, no doubt blushing furiously. I refused to look up at him, instead turning to see what stop the train had reached (I'd lost track of time), praying somehow it was mine. It wasn't.

I winced and gripped the pole now, all the more forcefully. When I looked up again he was clearly trying to suppress a smile. I wanted to kick myself. Or him, it was a toss-up. "So what is a lovely witch like you doing so far from the Leaky Cauldron?" he asked me, conversationally, keeping his voice low enough that the Muggles bustling around us wouldn't hear.

"I haven't been there in five years," I blurted, surprised into speaking. Why on earth would I just share that information randomly? He looked surprised, and somewhat concerned, and I couldn't figure why until he asked, "You mean, because…?"

"Oh goodness no," I said. "Nothing to do with that." That sentence could have ended there, but for some reason my mouth kept moving. "That's a lie, everything in the world had—well, obviously it didn't have _nothing_ to do—I mean, what didn't it change—shut up, Carolyn," I managed to stop, rubbing my eyes with my free hand as I finished.

"Ah, Carolyn!" said the man, holding his free hand up in triumph, startling a few disgruntled passengers nearby. "She has a name!" He smiled at me as I looked up, saying "It suits you. Lovely." I laughed a little.

"And you?" I asked. "Do you have a name?"

"Oh certainly," he said. He smiled down at me. There was a long silence. I raised both eyebrows and leaned forward slightly, prompting him. When he still said nothing, I finally asked, "And?"

"And what?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"What is it?"

"What is what?"

"Your name, what is your name?" I asked, half-annoyed but still laughing.

"Oh!" he said, grinning again. "George, my name is George." He offered me his free hand, and I reached out to take it. Then I snatched my hand back, suspiciously.

"Nothing's going to come out your sleeve, is it?" I asked.

"I promise."

"And you won't take my wand again," I said, more an order than a question.

"Merlin's honor," George pledged, his hand held up.

I shook his hand.

"You're an odd bloke, George," I said, shaking my head. He looked suddenly aghast, clutching one hand to his chest.

"What?" he gasped, his knees apparently gone weak as he held himself up on the pole as best he could. "How dare you!" He was knocking into people's legs nearby and they bristled angrily around the two of us. "How so?"

I lifted him by the scruff of the neck (he stood, obligingly) back to his feet and looked up the few inches it took to meet his eyes. "What, you mean like the fact you can do Muggle magic, and go around accosting—" ("Accosting?!") "—young witches on the London underground?" I asked. Then I frowned. "What are _you_ doing so far from the Leaky Cauldron, anyway?" He regarded me and it seemed like his answer didn't come as quickly to him as mine did to me.

"I'm looking for an old wizarding artifact I think was sent to a Muggle Asian market by accident," he said, finally. I was impressed.

"Your excuse sounds much more exciting than mine," I admitted. The train had stopped and let off and taken on passengers several times during our conversations, and I knew my stop would be coming along soon. It wasn't that long a commute.

"Yes," he said, "but you haven't actually given me your reason." This time I did wait before answering, and decided carefully on my response.

"I'm…living Muggle," I explained. He looked surprised, but his expression didn't hold any of the usual distrust or scorn.

"Interesting," he said, stroking his chin as though he had a beard. "Tell me more."

"Kind of a long story," I said, dryly.

He shrugged and looked around the train compartment as though he lived there and wasn't being buffeted all over the place as we turned and stopped and started again. "I've got time," he said.

I laughed. "I haven't," I said, "my stop's next." We were already slowing, and I was trying to move toward the doors, knowing the influx here was enough to drag me back in with the oncoming passengers and I needed to be ready to elbow my way out. "Good to meet you George!" I called, laughing.

"Hey, wait!" I couldn't turn around, but I recognized his voice. "How do I find you again?"

I was caught between incoming and outgoing passengers and trying to fight my way out, but I turned my face enough to call back, "You don't!" I pushed through onto the platform and caught my breath. I turned around and saw a figure with flaming red hair trying to squeeze between people to get out the doors after me, but strong and skinny (-ish) as he was, it was too late. They were closing jerkily, as they always do, and there was a squat little old woman between him and the doors. He was nearly twice as tall, but he couldn't get past. I laughed.

The doors had stuck slightly as the train started to move again. "At least your name!" he called out, through the remaining space. I hesitated.

"Young!" I shouted after him.

I watched the train leave, and then turned and raced up the stairs two at a time to street-level. I was still smiling when I climbed the last few steps into the typical London grim weather. He _had_ been charming.

For a moment I wondered why I had run off before I asked his name, or anything else. Truth be told I was lonely, and some companionship—in whatever form that took, I thought, smirking—would really be rather welcome. Except I didn't want to get mixed up with that whole life again. Fine. Good enough reasoning.

I checked the time on my mobile phone. _I should start looking for some blokes down the pub_, I thought. Then I thought about the kind of blokes down the pub and made a face. Maybe someone from work. I had dated a lot of Muggles when I first moved here, and it hadn't been particularly hard to keep my past in my past. Most of those relationships hadn't been serious anyway, and no one was interested enough to ask too many questions. I guess I ran through blokes pretty quickly, and then just stopped. Maybe I'd become too desensitized.

Anyway, the interaction on the train had been fun, I admitted it. I sighed fairly contentedly and walked to work.

When I got there, I found two more roses in the inner pocket of my jacket.


	2. Chapter 2

A little more than a week later, I was late to the underground in the morning. My stupid Muggle alarm had unplugged itself (yes, okay, I had knocked it off my dresser in my enthusiasm to hit the snooze button, it turns out) and I was late to wake, late to shower, late to dress, late to eat, and that put me very, very late to work. My scarf was flying out behind me as I ran from the turnstile down to the platform and I had to practically jumpe the train, squeezing through those blasted doors just as they closed.

Thankfully, being a little late meant I had missed the first big rush of the day and there wasn't quite the same huge mass of people all propping each other up just to fit inside. I swung a hand around a pole and collapsed into an open seat, me elbows on my knees, breathing hard. _Good god_, I thought. _I'm out of shape._ I leaned back and let my head fall against the beat-up plexiglass window behind me, still breathless.

As more and more people crammed onto the train, I gave up my seat for an angry middle-aged woman who either had or was feigning a limp. I spent most of my long commute trying not to be strangled by my own scarf as the crowd bustled around me and it got caught between two people. I managed to untangle myself and get pushed to the side of the car, next to the doors, which I hate, because I always feel like they're going to suddenly open and drop me. I closed my eyes. When I opened then again, just for a moment, to find the nearest handhold, I felt a little shock as something caught my eye down along the other end of the car. Through the rest of the crowd of hats and hair, I saw a flash of flaming red-orange.

George was standing there, facing away from me, possibly looking sideways out the window. I didn't have much time, but I wanted to at least say hello, so I navigated my way to the back, making my apologies where I had to forcibly squeeze past people (which was most of the time). Resolute in my quest, I finally reached him and tapped his shoulder on the other side. He turned away, as expected, and then back to me. I grinned. He frowned down at me as though he'd never seen me before.

I stopped grinning. "It's me," I said, feeling suddenly awkward. "Carolyn?" He blinked at me, and in that moment I saw recognition. His face lit up.

"Yes!" George said, turning fully to face me and gesturing broadly, or as much as he could in the cramped quarters. "Carolyn, of course! Carolyn Young, yes, brilliant! How are you?" He said all of this very quickly.

"I'm fine," I replied, bemused. "I mean, all's well, I guess." As much as I wasn't expecting the earlier cold reception, I wasn't expecting something quite this exuberant either. "How are you?"

"Smashing!" he said. He was grinning madly, but he managed to keep his voice down enough to ask, "Still living Muggle, are you?"

"Er—yes?" I said. "What are you out for this time?"

"Oh, the same, I expect," George said, shrugging. "Asian market?"

"Yes, you were," I began, feeling completely off-balance. I felt as though I was keeping up both sides of the conversation somehow. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

George held up a parcel I hadn't noticed earlier. "Unfortunately it wasn't the real thing; I'm taking it back," he said, grimacing. It was the only moment so far that he hadn't been smiling like a lunatic. "Took u—um, me, a week and a half to work on it and it turns out it hasn't got any more magical properties than that plush purple elephant in your pocket."

"Than—than _what?_" George just nodded at me and I reached into my jacket pockets. Sure enough, there was a tiny stuffed elephant in the left one. It was adorable. I put it back in my pocket. "You are absurd," I informed him.

"It's what I do." He shrugged. Then he looked around and something seemed to dawn on him. "Hey look," he said, "more time! Tell me more about this business living as a Muggle. Or mostly, mind you, given that Confundus charm…"

"Oh, shut up," I said. I was already preparing to move off to the nearest door; my stop was next. "And _you_ might have time, but I don't!" He seemed to know what I meant and lunged forward, but I was already moving and he wasn't balanced as the train jerked to a stop. I laughed, squeezing through the crowd in my usual routine. But a hand suddenly wrapped around my wrist and held tightly enough that I was stopped in my tracks for just a moment.

"Ha-_ha_!"

The shout was triumphant, and it had worked. An incoming huge businessman in a pinstripe suit completely blocked my path. "Shove over," he grumbled, and hit me in the kidney with a black attache case. Probably by accident. With George holding me like a tether, I ended up caught on the incoming crowd rather than the outgoing, and the doors closed and my exit slid away behind us.

I looked down at my wrist and only saw a hand and the end of a sleeve; the rest of the arm and the body attached to it appeared to be caught between a skinny punk-rocker and the big businessman I'd encountered earlier. Then George shouldered his way between them and grinned at me, letting go of my wrist.

"You made me miss my stop!" I said, jerking a thumb over my shoulder and nearly poking out the eye of the woman behind me. I put my free hand on my hip and scowled. He just grinned.

"I'll buy you cab fare back," he said, gesturing as though it meant nothing. "Tell me why you're living Muggle!" I shook my head in disbelief. _The next stop was pretty close_, I figured. _Might be I could make it to work on time—well, less than sacking-worthy late if I ran…_

The nearest set of doors was blocked by several teenage girls. With what they were wearing, my guess was they wouldn't be off until Spitalfields. I started moving to move toward the back of the car instead. I tried to squeeze past people by flattening myself to one side, doing my best not to land in someone's lap.

"Oi!" It was George's voice, but it wasn't from behind as though he were following me. "Carolyn!"

I looked in all directions and when a few people shifted to one side I saw George's tell-tale red hair over their heads. He was across the compartment, following a path parallel to mine, just on the other side. _Tenacity, this one_, I thought.

"Why d'you want to know so much?" I called. I kept pushing on, but the whole place seemed to be sectioned off into groups of people traveling together, so I needed to get between a group and the doors. It seemed less and less possible as I moved along.

"It's interesting," I heard, over the noise of the rest of the compartment. "You're interesting!"

"You don't even know me!" I said, incredulous.

"I want to," he said. Then he seemed to brighten even further. "Come out with me, tonight!"

"What?" I stopped in my tracks and stared at him. "No!"

"Oh why not," he asked, back to his usual grin. "Just drinks."

"No!" I said, though I was smiling. This man was literally pursuing me across the London underground. The last set of doors was in sight, and there was a little bit of room between it and the two huge bodybuilders standing in front of it.

"Just drink, singular!"

I grinned at him. "No!"

I slipped in between the bodybuilders and the doors. Then I gasped as suddenly George appeared there again at my shoulder. God only knows how he got across the car that quickly.

"Just one of those little cherries they put in fruity drinks?" he wheedled. I couldn't help laughing. But the train was slowing. I tried to put on my most serious face.

"I'm getting off here," I told him. Then I jabbed him in the chest with one finger, trying to sound intimidating but knowing full well I was failing miserably to hold back a smile. "Touch me again and I'll hex you, Statute of Secrecy or no."

George grinned and held up both hands, saying, "Yes, ma'am," but he still looked like he might make a grab for me, so I didn't turn my back on him. The moment the doors slid open I jumped around and managed to get out fast enough to elbow my way through the small incoming crowd, though I lost my scarf in the process. Once I was entirely clear of the crowds I stopped to catch my breath but someone bumped into me from behind.

"That was your fault, that was your fault!" said George, his hands held up again as I turned around, surprised. "You stopped abruptly; I ran into you. No premeditated physical contact."

Again, I could only stare. I couldn't quite get my head around what was happening. He put down his hands. "Cocktail peanuts?"

"You're _following_ me?" I asked, finally. My voice was considerably higher than normal.

"You never said I couldn't," he said, defensively. My mouth must have been working like mad, but nothing was coming out.

"I—I—wha—?"

"Look, how's this," said George, looking earnest. "Just give me your number and I'll go, I promise."

Stunned silence turned into skepticism.

"You've got a mobile."

"Of course I do, I run a business," he said, looking as though I'd said something completely mad.

"You run a business!" I said, again incredulous.

"I don't think I like your tone, here," he said, frowning down at me with an over-blown distrustful look. I looked him over; he really didn't seem the entrepreneur type, but I couldn't imagine what kind of office job someone so eccentric might have. Then I remembered: "Then where's your parcel?" He winced.

"Damn."

"Ha," I said, smirking. But then I was more serious. "You should really see if you can find it, especially if you were trying to get your money back."

"They probably have a rubbish return policy," he said, dismissively. "Give me your number."

I looked skeptical again.

"Show me the mobile, and maybe I'll put my number in it." It appeared so quickly in his hand I thought he might have summoned it. "Ah," I said, eyebrows raised. Honestly I hadn't been sure I believed him.

"Alright, number now," said George. "You promised."

"I did not!"

"Well, alright, you didn't give your word," he allowed, "but 'maybe' is good enough word for me." He pressed the mobile into my hand and closed my fingers around it with his own.

"Your business must be entirely in the red," I muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, quick!" he said, still holding my hand with the mobile in it. He let go and pointed at it. "You're late for work!"

"You're making me later!" I was laughing. I seemed to do a lot of that when he was around.

"Come on, Carolyn, please?" he asked. He did look earnest (and I'll admit more than a little bit adorable), and I'll be damned if anyone's _ever_ been this persistent asking after me.

"Oh alright," I sighed. I hurriedly put my number in his phone. "Now I've really got to run, and this time don't follow!" I was already taking the stairs, as quickly as I could.

"What about cab fare?" he called.

"I'll run for it!" I said, without turning.

"It's raining," he argued.

"I like the rain!"

As I emerged, I retrieved the miniature umbrella I keep under my arm in my jacket (just in case) and opened it. I do like the rain; I love the sound of it on my umbrella, and despite wet socks later, I did love splashing in puddles. Besides, I could sequester myself in the women's room at work and put a silencing charm on one of the cubicles so as to dry out my shoes and socks if I needed.

I _do_ like the rain, but not in combination with biting cold. I'd lost my favorite scarf on the train, and as much as I loved the scarf itself, I loved my neck being warm much more. At that point I'd have worn some hideous first attempt by an amateur knitter rather than have a bare neck.

I made it to work alive and without any real telling-off from my boss. I think she has a soft spot for me, though honest to god I've no idea why. I got the feeling that if I told her about some bloke on the subway acting like that, she'd laugh her head off and invite me out to drinks instead.

The rest of the morning (what was left of it) was fairly uneventful. I decided to work through lunch to make up for lost time. Just as everyone else was leaving, a few of the women near me still trying to convince me out, my mobile rang. I didn't recognize the number, so I answered in my most professional voice: "Carolyn Young."

"Oh good, just checking." The voice sounded familiar.

"George?"

"'Course," said the voice at the other end of the line. "Wanted to make sure you didn't give me a false number." I frowned.

"Why would I—?"

"Trust me, wouldn't be the first time," he said, sounding amused.

I held my mobile before my face for a moment to look at the screen.

"Is this your number, then?" I asked, returning it to my ear.

"Oh god no," he said, laughing. "Calling from a payphone. You think I'd just give my number to some stranger I met on the train?"

I was dumbstruck for a moment, but started laughing almost immediately after. "You're terrible," I said.

"Anyway, I've got to go," George said. Then he added, in a mysterious tone, "I'll be in touch…"

"Wait," I said, sitting forward in my chair by reflex, as though I could reach out and stop him from where I sat. "Okay, I can't have your number—how about just your name?" He hesitated, as I had when he asked.

"Granger." Then he hung up.

I looked down at my mobile. I bit my lower lip, trying not to grin.


End file.
